


It Is Not Your Time

by clarapaget



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, M/M, post 4x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-16 06:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarapaget/pseuds/clarapaget
Summary: Penny rejects Quentin. post 4x13.





	1. Chapter 1

Quentin sat, at last, in the dark room across from Penny, tears streaming down his face, his heart heavy and aching. He had been previously standing, alone with himself, trembling as he watched his friends—his family, who lifted him up, rejoiced him as person, knew and treated him as though he was worthy of their love—mourn him. The fire spread into the night sky, flickering like a lightbulb about to fizzle and blow out; their voices, his friends voices, filled the evening air. It broke Quentin, then and there. He wished so desperately to step forward, become visible, take his friends in his arms, and hug them. They’d been there for him through thick and thin, and yet this didn’t truly feel like a perfect ending.

There were no words he could summon; they felt lost in his throat, struggling to crawl out, but utterly unable to. It was then, and only then, that Quentin realized he didn’t want to die _now_. He was worthy of more; worthy of the love he received, worthy of unimaginable creations, worthy of being himself; worthy, in some way, of being alive. But he was no longer alive, a thing he’d craved since middle school—death, he finally had it. Though, feeling it, breathing the sultry air of the Underworld, it’s stickiness that groped his neck and lathered him with sweat and anxiety, made Quentin regret these wishes. His depression would never truly vanish, but the sweet smell of earth and the warm human touch and his breath; oh, his breath! He would beg to feel it now, he had hated it for so many years. To feel his breath one last time! But he couldn’t.

“I can’t go through with this,” Quentin finally said. His voice slipped; it was rocky and harsh from the crying before. The stone inside his throat had dislodged itself. “I can’t _fucking_ go through with this.”

Penny wasn’t numb to this behavior. He had died. Felt the same tremor, the same egregious thunder rise in his veins. But he had adapted, found solace in the Underworld. Being alive was a ravenous thing, and Penny missed Kady; missed his friends. If you could call them that. But they truly _were_ his friends. They mattered to him. He could see the grief that rose in Quentin, the egregious thunder that crept up under Quentin’s skin.

“You’re right,” Penny replied. “It is not your time. I died for a reason, to carry on truth, to reform and put to use myself; the selflessness that I shielded within me. You just… _died_. It is not your time, Coldwater.” 

And this stunted Quentin, for he looked down at his shaking hands, wet from wiping away tears that never seemed to end. But it was the end for him? Wasn’t it? He died, opening back up the seam, lights all around him. He had died. There was just emptiness; no resolution, the lack of love that sparkled around him! He had died! Simply and unaware and through the inglorious act of sacrifice. _He had died!_ Was the world not tired of throwing Quentin around? What do you mean, it is not _his_ time?

“What?” Quentin mustered.

Penny shook his head, marveled at Quentin’s continual slowness. “You were not supposed to die yet. Alice may have taken your book and made adjustments; she saved your life once. But when that timeline was rewritten, with strings of the universe sewing you back into existence, you got to live longer. And I mean _longer_ , Coldwater.”

“Will I… will I go back to earth?” Quentin asked. He wiped his wet palms on his jeans. They looked smeared and out of focus; the tears had clouded his eyesight. It was unbelievable. It was unbelievable that his whole life fit into that thin sliver of a book. Quentin had always marveled about how small and short the books seemed, but he’d made it to 26. He’d made it, had his life rewritten, and… and was somehow meant to live longer? Did the universe will him to be alive once more, despite the many times of emptiness that loomed within him, his mind and emotions racked with spiteful turmoil; depression hanging overhead like a ceiling fan, on and off, spinning, the white noises driving him absolutely fucking insane.

“Yes, that _is_ what happens when you’re not supposed to die,” Penny answered. He stood up and dusted himself off; removing, what Quentin felt, was the absolute frankness that circled the room. Perhaps, Quentin thought, he was jealous. But he knew he wasn’t; Penny was decidedly at home. He finally found his place in the universe; and Quentin knew his too, he just had to find his way back to it. “Get up, Coldwater, I’m not the one the world needs right now.”

That’s when it hit Quentin. The world _needing_ him? It sounded almost preposterous, unsound, backed up by nothing but the urgency and simple softness in Penny’s voice. Quentin stood, like Penny had, and together they left the dark room. He was going back. Back to Alice. Back to Eliot. Back to Julia. Back to everyone who cared about him, or at least gave a shit about him. He might’ve, if not so overcome with grief and sudden, simple joy, realized that he was the glue that brought everyone together. He might’ve realized what world could it possible be where he didn’t get to experience the love that he openly gave everyone else. 

Penny brought Quentin to another door, bright light streaming from it’s gaping openness. It was Brakebills that stood beyond the door. Brakebills, at the same spot he’d entered it, and the same spot where he met Eliot for the first time. Quentin’s mouth fell agape, his heart was already in such disrepair, such disbelief. He turned to Penny one last time. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” Quentin asked. “Something I can tell Kady?” 

Penny stood alone in silence, looking out onto the green pasture that stood, spread wide and hungry—the pristine lawn of prosperity—in front of the University.

“Tell her I am not worth dying for, today,” Penny said. “I will always love her. That is something that will never change. She has experiences, a whole life, like you, waiting for her. Tell her to keep living, for me. Because if she dies, puts herself in reckless situations, I will never forgive her when she comes down to join me.”

Quentin nodded sincerely, and reached up, and hugged Penny. “Again, Penny, I’m so sorry for laughing when you died. I wish… I wish I had reacted differently.”

“Don’t worry about it, Coldwater,” Penny said. “Go home.”

Quentin stepped through the door and onto the lawn, turning once more to steal one last glance at Penny, but the door had vanished and he simply stood alone, once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia drops her book.

It all came back to him at once. The sweet smell of earth, freshly mowed grass, trees that glimmered full of apples. Quentin craved the fresh taste. There may be hot chocolate in the Underworld, but nothing could ever beat a fresh apple. And Quentin breathed; he let it poor out of his nose and he pulled another deep breath back in. 

He kept walking, feet trudging through the grassy front lawn. What would his friends say? What would they think? They had just mourned him; thrown his belongings into a fire and let the light of the flames cascade down their faces, warm, with a lingering, empty sadness that wrapped itself around that moment.

Quentin would head first to the Physical Kids Cottage; it just felt right to head there first. It was in the opening near the cottage, in the not-quite-thick woods, where his friends had mourned him. Not only his friends, but Dean Fogg as well, and Penny 23, although Quentin did not ever get to know him well. He wondered what he would say when he saw them, how they would react, what he should tell them. 

The Physical Kids Cottage looked too silent as Quentin stood idle on the porch, hand lingering inches from the door. He had died. He had also come back, and there was hardly an easy explanation why. Throwing away all hesitation, Quentin opened the door and let himself in. It was difficult to know he’d been in this room not three days before, planning this with his friends, planning to get Eliot back. Eliot… what would Quentin even say?

He entered and a sudden silence fell around him; a moment stuck in time. Everything was dreadfully the same. Life happened without you, and when you returned, the life felt almost incomplete. Just another person dislodged from a Jenga game; another life removed, the world still stable, but just a little bit less, a little bit incomplete. 

“Quentin?” 

He turned around and saw Julia, frozen in place, her feet sinking into the ground, her eyes wide and staring. Her skin paled, white as snow, the book in her hands almost slipping from her grip, loosening in shock.

“Am I seeing a ghost?” she asked. “I’m going crazy. I’m going _fucking_ crazy.”

“No,” Quentin said. “I’m… I’m not a ghost.”

And Julia dropped the book. It fell from her hand and thudded against the wooden floor, lying flat and wildly still. She rushed forward and took Quentin in her arms, hands running all over him, checking, just checking to make sure he wasn’t, in fact, a ghost.

“You died, Q. You fucking died!” 

“I did.”

“How are you back, it seems utterly impossible?” Julia pulled away, her hands still wrapped around his arms. She didn’t want to let go, again, for fear of somehow losing him. This moment was too surreal for her. What if she let her hands fall and he vanished again? She couldn’t risk that. 

“It wasn’t my time, apparently,” Quentin said. “I guess the Underworld can send you back if they don’t think you got the death you deserved.”

Julia looked up into his eyes, searched his face ardently. She had once memorized every emotion Quentin had; when he was sad, happy, floating blissfully in a daydream, angry, heartbroken, ravaged by unthinkable thoughts. And she was so glad to have that chance again. To search his face and find disbelief, and immense, such immense love. Quentin Coldwater was her best friend and she would never let him go. It was impossible for her not to. 

“We have to tell Alice,” Julia breathed. “And Eliot. And Margo. Everyone else. They are so broken. You fucking idiot, you destroyed us all.” And she smiled, pulled him close once more, and took his hand. 

They found Eliot and Margo first, in the infirmary. Eliot was so weak when he went to Quentin’s memorial, and the doctors had advised against it. But with Margo’s help, and the un-dissolving love he had for Quentin, Eliot went. He was back in the infirmary bed, eyes closed, hands tucked close to him, hovering over his heart. 

Quentin remembered so sweetly how Eliot looked when he slept. Of course, with the help of fifty somewhat years, Quentin could remember almost everything about Eliot. He’d fallen so viciously in love. It mesmerized him, how long he lived then. Quentin had had a whole lifetime, and yet somehow he deserved a second one. What a chance; what a miracle.

Margo saw him immediately, Julia with her arms wrapped around him, and her eyes widened and she leapt from her chair beside Eliot. She had rarely left his side; it was the same for her, she refused to have Eliot be ripped away from her again.

“Quentin, you fucking ass!” Margo cried. Julia stepped back and allowed Margo to smother him. “Did you fake die just to prank us? If so I will murder your ass. You broke Eliot’s heart, you cock.” Her voice trembled. “You broke _my_ heart.”

She reached up her hand and slapped him. 

“Ow!” Quentin cried, and put his hand up against his cheek, in pain. “No! Margo, no! I did die. Penny sent me back. I’m back. I’m just _back_.”

“You dickhead! I cried over you!” Margo continued on. “Let’s wake Eliot up. And try not to startle him, he might die of overwhelming shock and grief.”

Margo went over to Eliot’s side, and Quentin turned to look at Julia. She smiled at him, reached for his hand, squeezed it, and let it go. Margo rubbed her thumb along Eliot’s cheek.

“Wake up, Eliot. You’re not going to believe who decided to visit you.”

Eliot slowly awoke, his eyes flickering open cautiously. When they, Quentin and Eliot, _and_ Arielle, had first had Teddy, Eliot was always the first to bolt awake. If Teddy made the slightest sound, Eliot would jump awake, eyes cracking open with immediate concern. It made Quentin’s heart swell sadly to see Eliot so weak now. 

“Who is it, Bambi?” Eliot drawled. 

“Your dead boyfriend,” she said.

“Does that mean I’m dead?” Eliot chuckled lightly. “Without these fucking pain meds, I hope so.” And then he truly opened his eyes and saw Quentin. Saw him standing so proudly, so alert, and so incredibly undead.

“I _am_ fucking dead.”

“No you’re not, you bastard,” Margo said.

Eliot sat up and Quentin came closer, more unsteady now. He hadn’t said anything. How could he? It was impossible to form any words. Eliot put his hand against Quentin’s cheek and looked deeply into his eyes. 

“Are you really here?” Eliot asked. His voice was shaking; close to tears. 

“Yes,” Quentin breathed. “I got rejected from the Underworld.”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Eliot said. “Margo brought me here, and they fixed me up, put me on pain meds. Margo said you’d gone with Penny and Alice to the mirror world. And then they came back, and you didn’t. I spent months inside my own head hoping I would get to see you went I came back. And you fucking died. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Quentin said softly. 

“No, I don’t,” Eliot replied. “I _love_ you.”

And he pulled Quentin closer and kissed him, both hands cupping Quentin’s cheeks. He was so incredibly weak, but it didn’t matter anymore because besides Margo, Quentin was the one thing in the world that could stable him.

But Quentin pulled away; he kissed back, for a second, but he pulled away too suddenly, and Eliot’s heart began aching again.

“What’s wrong?” Eliot asked, hands still on Quentin’s cheeks. He was staring at Eliot like a forgotten memory.

“Nothing,” Quentin said. “Nothing, El. I just… I thought you didn’t want this. Didn’t want us together.” 

“Oh,” Eliot breathed. “ _Fuck_ past me. I was an idiot, Q. I do want to be with you, I was terrified. I’ve never had that kind of guaranteed happiness before. I do want to be with you, Q. Through all of it, thick and thin, health and sickness. I love you, I spent a lifetime with you. Let’s do it again, now that you’re back.” He was rushing things, he knew it, but there were somethings in the world that you weren’t supposed to wait for. At least, any longer.

“I…” Quentin was trembling now. God, he’d fucked up. Eliot looked at him hopefully before the hint of realization fell into his eyes. He pulled his hands away, his body away.

“You hooked up with Alice,” Eliot gulped. “Both of you, the only two people I love in the world, were out fucking people while I was possessed. I got over it with Margo. But you, Quentin… _Peaches and plums, motherfucker_.” And his voice cracked on the last bit.

“It was the spur of the moment, Eliot,” Quentin tried to recant. “I needed to talk it over with Alice, tell her that I felt rushed, and broken, but I… I never got the chance. I needed someone who I connected with; I thought, somehow, that having her back would make me feel whole, but I realized that it didn’t. Please, Eliot.”

Eliot said nothing, and Margo looked at Quentin and shrugged. “Not my place nor problem, Coldwater.”

Quentin stood up and went back to Julia. They meant to leave, but Quentin turned and looked back one last time.

“We missed you, Quentin,” Margo called. She looked empty from afar. “Don’t ever die on us again, you asshole.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice's soliloquy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pacing is shit but yeeyee

They found Kady and Alice in the Brakebills library. Alice had occupied herself with a book, consumed with grief and contagious questioning. And Kady was with her because Alice could not bear to be alone. It was midday now, and sun streamed in through the window and illuminated the panels that ran along the floor. Half of Alice’s face was lit and the other shrouded in some terrifying darkness. She looked, and Quentin presumed, as he had felt following the death of Alice.

His and Julia’s footsteps alerted both women, who startled and looked up with angry glances, ready to berate some first year student simply passing by. It seemed that alongside unmeasurable sadness came the undeniable will to yell at other people.

“What the fuck,” Kady blurted. 

“Quentin?” Alice asked, quite confused. “Julia?”

She stood, quite timidly, and came forward, toward Quentin, with a nervous gait. His heart felt soft for a minute — Alice looked so unsure, a lost puppy, a sweet dove. She had once meant the world to him, and he thought, possibly, in the heat of a very extinguished moment, that they could reignite that spark. But he knew now, perhaps long before, before he’d even kissed her again, that it wouldn’t last. Quentin worried, though, that Alice wouldn’t realize that, and if she didn’t, he didn’t want to break her heart and more than he already had. He thought he could be mad at her forever, but love _mends_ , friendships mend. 

Alice reached out, to touch Quentin, hesitantly, and upon feeling that he was real, completely solid, wrapped her arms around him. For a girl lost to a life of loveless attribution, Alice was able to conjure such a warm, dedicated embrace.

“How are you here?” she asked. “How are you back?”

Her voice trembled, just as Margo’s had. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, almost as if nervous to show the broken weight of emotion that was shielded behind them. Alice, always, was first and foremost, a protector of herself.

“I don’t know,” Quentin confessed. “I’m just back. I was sent back.”

“Oh,” Alice breathed. “Okay. I’m… glad to see you. I missed you.”

“Me too.”

There was a bout of awkward silence, and Kady came to the rescue. She placed a friendly hand on Alice’s shoulder, an intimate, reassuring hand. Quentin unfolded; Alice had found confidence in Kady’s companionship in Quentin’s absence, a friendliness able to blossom in theunearthed pocket of time in which he’d been gone.

“It’s good to see you back, Q,” Kady said. “Really, it is.”

“Kady,” Quentin greeted. And then remembered. “I saw Penny.” This piqued her interest, her eyes alight with intrigue, a demand to know more. “He told me to tell you to keep living your life. He’s keeping an eye on you, he still loves you. And… if you doing anything self-destructive, he’ll hate you forever.”

Kady forced a tearful smile, a cute laugh that burst, only for a second. His memory forever resided in her heart - she would never truly get over Penny, but there was a whole world left for her; friends, family, future lovers. 

“That bastard,” Kady whispered to herself.

“Quentin, we should talk,” Alice said. And they parted ways from Julia and Kady, who left the library, rather than remain. 

Alice took his hand, but it felt oddly out of place, an uncomfortable breach of personal space. But he didn’t let go, and neither did she. They went and sat in the chairs Alice and Kady had been lounging in minutes before. The library creaked, and dust fluttered from the bookshelves, settling onto the paneled floors. A collection of the many years, fallen - an unrepairable, unforgettable time, lost. 

“Fuck, Q,” Alice started. “I should hate you. We promised, on the stairs. We work better as a team, and you separated us. If you were going to die, I would’ve died with you. But I realized, Q, when you were gone, that even though the world was a little less, a little more un-whole, I would’ve preferred to die beside you as your friend.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Alice said. “I think we fit together well at first, but there’s some kind of connection missing between us. I will always love you, Q. You will always be the person that opened up the idea that someone could love me back, but I think, and I think you think this too, that we were never truly meant to last. You were the best thing that happened to me, for a long time. But I’ve seen the whole world, I’ve seen beyond the world, and there’s so much more thanthe both of us. I think we opened the gates of loving for one another, and a part of me will be with you, will always love you, but we both deserve a love that transcends beyond this world, and I don’t think I could get that with you, no matter how much I’d like.”

Quentin was struck into silence. He embraced the words, slowly and willingly, like abrand new revelation to a child. Perhaps he was indeed starstruck, bereaved that Alice was saying the words that had resided in him since that undeterminable afternoon. Yes, he agreed that a part of him would always love her, but he’d lived a whole life with Eliot, and was willing, more than anything, to do it again.

“I must confess something, too,” Quentin replied. “In order to get one of the keys, during the quest, I went with Eliot through the clock, and back into Fillory in the past. We had to solve a mosaic, find the supposed beauty of all life. Days turned into weeks turned into months turned into years. Before long, we had a family; I had a wife, we had a son. I grew old with Eliot. I grew old with him, and… and I would like to do that again.”

Alice nodded, understanding. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Alice,” Quentin said. “Underneath all those hard layers, you are sweet, and good and kind, and you make the world a brighter place. I love you for it. I love you.”

He stood, uncertain, and then leaned down one last time and placed a gentle kiss against Alice’s cheek. A blush formed, creeping across her face in the dim light of the library. 

“I love you, too,” Alice whispered. She put her hand against Quentin’s cheek, one last time, took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “I hated watching you die, Q. Never do it again. Please.”

“Okay.” Quentin smiled softly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot references Pride & Prejudice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to scot for editing this one!

Quentin left the library; his mind was wrecked and he felt terribly sad and lonely. The afternoon had sunk into dusk, and stars had begun to twinkle brightly in the sky above. He didn’t realize how long he’d spent rushing from the infirmary, then to the library; these passing moments only felt like that occurred seconds apart. Reality felt like it was shifting, and Quentin could barely keep his feet pressed to the ground.

The grass sparkled with evening dew, lit in the twilight that surrounded Quentin. And this made Quentin glad to be home. It was ultimately the little things that often mattered the most. Also the air. Nothing could compare to the air on earth. Polluted, a little, but also clear, sometimes, upon high peaks, and it was a familiar home. It was truly so different from Fillory as well, with opium tracing the air, making the world feel lighter, and strange, and easier to adjust to talking animals and unknown plants, unknown flowers.

Quentin made his way back to the infirmary, as he didn’t know where else to go. He assumed Julia probably retired with Kady back to the Physical Kids Cottage, or maybe went back to the penthouse in Manhattan, he was unsure. But he knew Eliot and Margo were at the infirmary, it was imperative at the moment that Eliot not leave for a little while longer. 

It felt right that Quentin was returning to Eliot. He’d hardly had a moment to see him after Margo dug the Axes, Sorrow and Sorrow, into Eliot’s stomach. He’d been too focused, for the first time, trying to shove the monster into an enchanted bottle. There was little time, and it was world changing that Quentin must do it. 

When Quentin got to the infirmary, all the lights were out, except for a lamp in the corner, where Eliot’s bed was. Margo had brought a chair over so she could sit beside him. It was a darkened yellow, almost gold, that mirrored the chair in the penthouse, with a fluffy pink pillow stolen from her bedroom in the Physical Kids Cottage. She slept peacefully beside Eliot. It was a calming sight; Margo was often full of power, rage, overwhelming love—her break was well-deserved. 

“Hello?” Quentin whispered as he approached, doing his best to silence his footsteps as to not startle Margo and Eliot. 

Margo snapped her eyes open immediately (so not completely asleep and peaceful yet). But she relaxed when she noticed it was only Quentin. She reached out her hand, he took it, and she pulled him closer toward her. Her hand was cold, but not shaking as it had been, Quentin remembered, when she pressed her hands against the large gash in Eliot’s chest, trying to stop the blood that poured from him. 

“He’s been moping,” Margo said, motioning to Eliot. “I think you broke his heart.”

“He broke mine first,” Quentin replied. The chair was nearly big enough for two people, and Quentin was small enough, so he squeezed himself in next to Margo. If he leaned forward just a touch, he could press his forehead against hers. 

“Oh, Q,” Margo sighed gently. “He’s doing his best to repair that mistake.” She paused as Quentin’s face contorted into confusion. “Don’t worry, he told me everything. I’m his best friend, do you honestly think he wouldn’t? I mean, he had kept it from me for quite so time, but I’m eager to forgive. He was gone from me for so long. Gone from  _ us _ .”

“Margo,” Quentin started, “How do we know if we’re doing the right thing? How am I supposed to know where to go next? We’ve done countless things trying to save the world, save magic, repair relationships. I was brought back, and I don’t even know why. All Penny told me was that it wasn’t my time to die. Not yet, at least.”

Margo raised her hand and caressed Quentin’s cheek, grief overtook her eyes. She looked so incredibly worn out.

“I guess it’s that gut feeling that you get sometimes. Like, oh, this is the person I’m in love with, or when you’re making a tough decision between what shoes would look good with whatever outfit I decide to wear to Ibiza, or bringing Eliot back. Sometimes it’s selfish, but the right thing is hard to define. You may think you’re right, but I could think you’re wrong—and trust me, Q, that happens often. I knew I had to bring Eliot back, or at least try, and die in the process. He’s my gut feeling Quentin, and if you break his heart again, I’ll kill you.”

Quentin processed her words slowly and turned away from her to look over at Eliot. He snored lightly, and Quentin watched his chest rise and fall. The lamplight fell over him as it had with Alice, but there was no shadow cast across his face. He looked like pure starlight, and it hit Quentin at full force. He was stuck, terribly, in love. 

“Can I wake him?” Quentin asked.

“I’m not his or your mother,” Margo replied. “Go ahead.”

Quentin steadily inched out of the chair, standing up and leaning beside Eliot’s bed. He put a heavy, yet gentle hand on Eliot’s shoulder, brushing away a black curl that hung in front of his eyes. Eliot still hadn’t cut his hair yet, and Quentin knew he was due for one soon. He wondered what Eliot said about the hot topic-esque shirts he’d been forced to wear when the monster possessed him. 

“El,” Quentin whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. “I’m back.”

Eliot’s eyes peeled open and he stared directly at Quentin. His hand rose and wrapped around Quentin’s wrist. 

“Hi,” Eliot whispered back. “I’m too tired to sit up. Lay down with me.”

Quentin complied. Eliot inched back, groaning a little in pain, and Quentin slowly slid next to him. They lay sideways, eyes reading each other's faces. Eliot soaked him in, and Quentin realized that every day he faced with the Monster wearing Eliot’s face, Eliot had faced a day without Quentin to even look at. Had he spent all this time trapped in the Monster alone? 

“Did you go see Alice?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say to her?” Eliot asked impatiently. He wanted desperately to reach out, wrap his arms around Quentin. Fifty years and Eliot longed to feel Quentin pressed against him once more. 

“I told her about us,” Quentin answered. “The life we lived together. Our son. And she understood, I was surprised. But I suppose it was for the best.”

Eliot nodded, reaching down the bed to grab Quentin’s hand. Quentin held it tightly, and Eliot ached even more. 

“Can I kiss you this time?” Eliot asked. “Or will you pull away again?”

“I won’t pull away,” Quentin said. 

Eliot brought his head closer to Quentin and pressed his aching lips against Quentin’s. It felt more whole than before, when Quentin had come by earlier. It felt like home rushing back in; like fifty years, like peaches and plums, like an entire lifetime waiting to be lived, again. There were no trembling sparks, just a remembrance that healed the aches in both their hearts.

At last, Eliot pulled away from the kiss and buried his head against Quentin’s chest.

“I don’t want to make any more mistakes,” Eliot whispered. “I want you to know that I love you, and that I mean it most ardently,  _ my hero _ .”

“Hey!” Margo called. “I’m the one who saved your ass!”

“I know, Bambi,” Eliot called back. “And I love you for it.”

Eliot buried his face even more and took in Quentin’s scent. He almost cried for how much he’d longed for it. Some semblance of home. And now he was back, back with his home: Quentin and Margo.

“I do love you, though, Q.”

“I know.”


End file.
